A closet full of drabbles
by ClosetRomanticSockpuppet
Summary: Drabble collection that hopefully will keep the plot bunnies alive. Latest drabble: There are snowflakes falling and she has always been drawn to white.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: ****For policis, because drabbles are little snippets of fun and joy (most of the time). **

**Enishi.**

**.**

Ever since he was a child, Enishi's had held a deep respect for the power of women.

Because his mother had died with his birth he had spend far more time at his sister's side than most normal boys would. He had seen that which women normally kept secret: the thousand of little ways that their hearts broke all over again every single day.

Big breaks like when their father made disappointing decisions to abuse his power as head of house or when another woman was found lying in the bed he once shared with their mother. But he had even seen how it was the little things that could truly disappoint a woman: the neglecting of her favourite flowers or even just the lack of acknowledgement when she had put extra effort into her calligraphy. Even just turning away from a gentle touch that only meant to smooth back your hair could put just a tiny little crack into a woman's heart.

He had seen the way her serene expression, that unwavering mask, had cracked when her fiancé had vowed to go off to war.

And yet Tomoe never showed any of her heart ache, her disappointments, her bone aching resignation to anyone but him. At first because he was little, then because he was special, and then when it started to dawn on him that Tomoe's life would never be fair she hid it from him too.

Yes, men fought wars and ruled lands but it took a woman to hold together a household.

Enishi didn't think their father would have survived the death of their mother if it hadn't been for Tomoe. On every anniversary, be it of their mother's death or her birthday, he overindulged in the sake and told long often repeated stories that Enishi doubted were true. Tomoe always listened, her face a mask of indulging patience, before carefully shepherding their father to bed. And still she made sure that there were presents to celebrate his birthday and not just their mother's death.

Enishi never knew his mother, had no leftover emotion to spare for her now that Tomoe was such a good surrogate mother, but he understood that she must've been like Tomoe. He understood this because she carried the burden of being his mother-figure and she carried it well. No complaints, no tears, no faked smiles but merely serenity and the scent of white plums.

He came to understand that it was the support of a woman that made men great.

So it was easy to conclude that it was a woman that he would need to take from Kenshin, _the assasin_ who had taken _everything_ from him, if he truly wanted to break the man down. And he yearned to make him break. He ached for the snapping and breaking of his soul into tiny little pieces that would never be recovered again.

Why beat a body when the soul could be _wounded_ so much deeper and leave scars that would never heal?

Under a disguise that would serve him well enough now that the other swordsmen did not know he was even nearby, Enishi had gone to the dojo himself to see this new woman. This _poor substitute_ for his sister that had taken a special place in Himura's heart. He had almost not believed his eyes when he had first seen her.

A loud mouthed, violent, often dirty sword instructor who did not hesitate to practise sword fighting until she was covered in sweat had taken the place of his demure sweet smelling sister. This is what Himura had chosen to replace his former wife with? A woman who could not hold her tongue in the presence of men and looked as if she barely knew how to hold a paintbrush? A woman who not only tolerated more men in her home than should be wise but let them tug her hair and had the nerve to hit them when they insulted her?

For heaven's sake the woman couldn't even _cook._

Disgusted Enishi had left and wondered whether the man had fallen even deeper from grace than merely his _rurouni _status would imply. And yet, something that he had seen inspired him to order a realistic looking doll to take the place of the sword instructor's body. Something about what he had seen had forced him to find an alternative for killing her and he did not realize this until he saw Gein's confused look.

Of course the puppet master was all too happy to have a new excuse to experiment with his techniques and didn't question him further. Enishi drove the thought from his mind. What mattered was the reaction Himura would have to the sight of her dead body, not the fact that she wouldn't truly be dead.

Enishi focussed on his revenge and put any thought of _Kamiya Kaoru _out of his mind. She didn't matter; she was merely a means to an end.

A believe he firmly held even as he used the cover of smoke to take the woman with him. She turned and her hair stuck to her lips as she opened them to warn Kenshin. Her hair was long and black as that of his sister but _thicker_ somehow, less elegant and fine, just like everything about this woman was _less_ than his sister.

He felt no guilt as he pressed the drugged fabric against her mouth and took her with him. He would hide her far away until Kenshin had surrendered and _withered_ like a starving weed and then he would release her. If even his poor sister could make such mistakes in men, surely he could forgive this dim-witted woman for making the same mistake? He would spare her life and not actively harm her for this reason alone.

He should've expected that she would try to escape.

Where Tomoe had been like water, flowing calmly from one room to the next, Kaoru was like _fire. _She burned with the passion that was locked inside her lion's heart and she used every single drop of that passion for the goals that mattered to her. Tomoe flowed with her surroundings, adapted and thrived no matter what was thrown at her but always adapted to what was expected. Tomoe would've accepted her imprisonment calmly and honourably and would have acted with dignity and grace only.

Kaoru came at him with a vase.

Of course she had no way to go and he felt satisfied in letting her know this was the case. It was petty of him, perhaps, but punishing her felt like punishing Himura and he needed these little bursts of satisfaction. His sister hadn't smiled at him since he had destroyed Himura so effectively and he couldn't figure out _why._ It clawed at what was left of his sanity and Enishi had half a mind to simply let what remained slip away.

Instead he took his time informing Kamiya Kaoru of the fact that she would not be able to escape and refused to give her back her clothes. Childish, but it made him feel better.

The day she came at him with a broken broom he was convinced his sister stopped smiling because she was still alive. That it had been a mistake to use a doll in her place and show mercy when it came to anyone dealing with the likes of Himura Kenshin. That Tomoe hated his lack of conviction, letting her _substitute _live. It was the only explanation for her eyes burned so bright and she was simply so very _different_, so unworthy of being even called a substitute_. _He wrapped his fingers around Kaoru's neck and _squeezed_ until he could hear her wheeze and her body weaken.

Instead his body was the one that gave away. Coughing, vomiting, shaking, Enishi was left in total confusion and could only beg for his sister to give him an answer. _Why, why, why? _

The only answer he found was to a question he had forgotten he had asked himself before. Himura Kenshin had not fallen so deeply from grace that he would accept the affection of some poor excuse for a woman. Kamiya Kaoru hurt like only women could hurt, ached like only woman could ache and she had shown him a glimpse of what hid behind her passionate blue eyes. She was trying so hard to escape not for her own sake but that of Kenshin, for that _murderer. _

A man she believed who would feel better simply by seeing her smile. And for that, she would fight her hardest to be able to give him that.

Perhaps he had underestimated Kamiya Kaoru, perhaps there was a way for her to remind him of his sister after all. She had taken a young thief, a loud mouthed gangster and a broke wanderer and somehow turned them all into a family. Somehow her dojo had transformed into a _home_ and not just because of the fact that she fed so many hungry mouths. It was the fact that she fed them and didn't complain. It was the fact that she wastired but never uttered a sound. It was the fact that she let them pull her hair and insult her cooking.

It was the way that she suffered as only a woman could and still made them great: a boy training to become a samurai, a gangster known for his heart, a wanderer with a home. Men that could be proud of themselves even if they ate every single grain of rice without a thought to spare for who paid for it, for who had given them that pride.

Well if it was up to him she would have one less mouth to feed, and soon. Already there were rumours of Kenshin's revival and Enishi felt revenge yet again burn through his veins. The emptiness, the doubt, it all disappeared with the realization that just forcing Himura through a living hell was not enough. He would send him to the true pits of hell and Tomoe would smile for him yet again.

Never mind that he couldn't kill Kaoru, he would kill Kenshin instead.

With this thought in mind he could yet again smirk at Kaoru's obvious relief at just hearing Himura's name, despite the pang of confusion that caused. He would never figure out what it was about the red-head that would drive even someone like his sister to be devoted to him. But it didn't matter, nothing would matter once Himura Kenshin lay dead upon the beach and Tomoe would smile at him yet again.

Only no matter how hard he fought how much injury he inflicted upon the revived Himura Kenshin, Tomoe refused to smile for him again. It drove him to distraction; tortured his mind and no powerful sword technique could release him from the agony of knowing that somewhere his sister was no longer proud of him.

It didn't help that from the sidelines, Kaoru had already given Kenshin her own smile to give. A smile so very different from the reserved tilt of lips that he knew of his sister but one that showed teeth and joy and let her eyes sparkle with happiness. All just because she saw him, just because Kenshin was there to collect her, to save her, no matter how _unworthy_ that murderer was of any smile.

He fought that _murderer_ until he could barely stand until he could feel his strength draining from him with every breath. Stubbornly he clung onto his sword and prepared to attack again when a gunshot ruined his opportunity. Kenshin was hit and afraid that his revenge would be taken away from him Enishi looked up.

And faced the back of a woman: tall, proud and protective. Arms spread as his sister's arms had been spread; head held high as his sister's head was held high, fingers holding even her hands open as if ready to receive whatever pain would come her way: Kaoru was the perfect image of his sister.

Enishi could not let her die.

He was no longer the helpless boy that he had been then. The _lowlife_ didn't stand a chance against his powerful fist and for a moment Enishi basked in the crack of his nose snapping under the punch. Before he could move in for blood Kenshin stopped him, spoke of Tomoe, and whatever fight Enishi had been clinging onto drained from him.

His lust for revenge was gone and there was nothing left, _nothing_ but hollow emptiness where once his sister had been. It was wrong, it was all wrong, because he didn't want to be thanked for saving _Kamiya Kaoru_ for it wasn't _her_ that he wanted to save.

When Enishi fell he had nothing left to cling onto: no death, no revenge, not even the smile of his sister. Enishi fell to his knees at Kenshin's feet but he did not know whether it was the man with the reversed sword who had truly defeated him. Was it not the memory of Tomoe, the reminder that she did not smile, that drained all fight from him? Was it not Kamiya Kaoru who had forced him to remember Tomoe's final act, that reckless sacrifice for the sake of just one man? That final act that revealed who Tomoe had truly been?

But perhaps she handed him salvation right after. Tomoe's diary was given to him by the calloused, far from elegant hands of a woman who could never be a replacement for his sister. Not after his moment of madness when he protected her had passed and never for Kenshin who still bore the scar Tomoe had given him. But perhaps she could be just enough, just a woman offering a smile and handing over a diary.

Just a woman doing her best to build a home.

He was reminded that it was the support of a woman that made men great. And perhaps the key to greatness for him lied in the writings of his sister. Just maybe she could guide him down the path of redemption and help him atone for his many sins.

Perhaps, just maybe, Kamiya Kaoru had made it possible for him to see Tomoe's smile again.


	2. Cherry blossoms

Whenever Kenshin saw cherry blossoms fall he remembered how he had forgotten their sweet the smell of the flowers had been overwhelmed by the scent of blood and how their bright colours contrasted so sharply against the night's sky.

He remembered how they softly touched his shoulder and then swept off by the force of his swings. He remembered them twirling gently in the air, away from the blade of his sword as he drove it into the chest of another. He saw rains of blood, downpours that came from veins rather than clouds, he saw it with every pedal that fell and the more they fell the more he remembered. He remembered cloth clinging to his shoulders, to his arms, to his skin because the blood was soaking it but that's what you get for going after main veins.

He remembered the war. The way his gut would clench after every life taken and the bile that would rise to his throat. How his nose was unable to pick up anything but the scent of blood because blood seemed to be everywhere. How men fell, suddenly and gracefully, exactly like the soft pink flowers did all while knowing that there was no greater honour. That this was the way of the _samurai_ and perhaps, as an _assassin,_ he never understood that.

He looked at cherry blossoms as they fell but all he saw was death.

All Kaoru saw were flowers. She called them pretty with the naïve delight of a child. With the eyes of someone who had never killed, who had never felt blade part skin and pierce flesh, she could not see anything other than the soft pink of cherry blossoms. She looked at cherry blossoms and saw the beginning of something new.

He had to love her a little more for that.


	3. Nightmares

**Author's note: For Ayezur because few can write that well. **

**Nightmares.**

**.**

When Yahiko was little and hunger was gnawing at the lines of his stomach trying to find a way out like a tiny gluttonous beast, he discovered that he had a tendency to dream.

It began with dreams of sweets and rice with rich spicy sauce that left his stomach hurting and his mouth watering. Then, as the money sharks came knocking at their door, they were filled with the deep sounds of pounding drums that put pressure on his ears and sped up his heart. Soon the dreams became more intense, lingering in his mind far after he had awoken and leaving cold sweat on his skin every morning.

His mother, gentle and caring and kind, noticed as any mother would. However, it was hard to protect a child against an evil that existed only in his mind. What could she do about an evil that persisted, that crawled through his veins like an insidious poison and left bags under his eyes? What could she do when there were already so many more tangible evils in his life to begin with?

During the day he faced poverty and grief and the increasing persistence of his mother's coughs and at night he was faced with thoughts he dared not think about during the day. His mind could no longer be distracted and lingered on his worries, his disappointment and his scares. His mouth was foul against the money sharks that came knocking at their door but he had no defence when they came to visit again in his dreams.

His heart could not lie when faced with the darkness of the night and no amount of tough talk could truly drive away a deep seethed fear. Not the fear of loss, not the fear of starvation and certainly not even the tiny fears that could only originate from the mind of a child. No amount of tough talk could frighten away the darkness or scare the monsters from the shadows.

One day, after heavy rainfall had left another leak in their already patched roof that could no longer be fixed by his absentee father, his mother went to the temple for a charm. She believed them to be haunted by _Binbōgami, _the god who inhabits a human being or their house to bring misery and poverty, and she went to find something that would protect them from the ruthless god. When she set out to buy that charm she was aware that it would force her to sacrifice the money kept apart for the medicine that she so desperately needed but she paid no heed to Yahiko's objections.

He was worried, she could no more hide her illness than Yahiko could hide his nightmares, but his upbringing did not allow him to disrespect his mother by objecting much further. He let her go with a heavy heart and could feel it drop down to his stomach the moment she returned. His mother leaned heavily on a walking stick, her grasp fragile and her smile feeble. He did not know then that it would be the last time she set foot outside the house but his dark eyes, far too wise for a child, nevertheless saw more than she wanted him to see.

It turned out that they could not afford protection from _Binbōgami, _not even if they sacrificed money saved for his mother's medicine_. _However his mother had not returned empty handed. On her way back into the home she pressed a rough item in his hands and ran her fingers through his hair before completing the familiar affectionate gesture by slipping down and softly caressing his cheek, as she always did. When his dark eyes raised he saw the way her cheeks had fallen in and read despair in her eyes.

She no more wished to leave him than his father had. But like his father she was fighting a losing battle.

Yahiko dropped his gaze and, with the sound of her retreating steps still in his ears, looked at what she had pressed into his hand. There was a creature carved out in wood, a long haired creature with the paws of a tiger and a long snout and it didn't take him long to recognize it.

His mother had given him the image of _Baku_, the dream devouring creature that originally came from China.

Helplessness rushed through his veins in the form of hot anger for already they were so heavy in debt, already they owed far too much to the wrong people. Must she truly spend more of money they did not have just because he, like a _child_, could not fight off his nightmares?

In the doorway of his withering home Yahiko made a promise to himself. Raising his chin in a mixture of defiance, pride and stubbornness, he silently promised the sky that he would not let anyone know about his nightmares ever again.

After that day he never cried out at night again. No matter how much fear crawled up his arms, no matter how much cold sweat covered his skin, he never allowed himself to make a single sound. His mother, fooled, assumed that the charm had worked.

Yahiko let her believe that to her dying day.

The nightmares lessened after his mother's death. Whether it was because the hunger and exhaustion increased and left no room for anything else or simply because he did not have another person to be protective of, Yahiko didn't really know but he didn't have the time to wonder. Every day it was gathering just enough money to bribe the gangsters to keep him alive and perhaps, on a good day, even feed him.

He searched crooks and crannies for spare change that the average man didn't bother to pick up and soon figured out all the best places. He even resorted to begging when the pain of hunger outweighed the pain of his pride. Begging, though, did not nearly get him enough money when there were so many smaller, more pathetic looking children. All too soon the temper of the gangsters and the pain of hunger left him unable to deny the truth any longer. He had always been quick with his hands, he had no choice.

The nightmares returned the moment he began stealing.

His nights were filled with the silent presence of his father, his mouth tightened in disapproval and brow furrowed in disappointment. When the rains were heavy or the nights particularly cold, his mother was there to fill his ears with the sound of her weeping. How could her boy, whose line was that of proud samurai, be degraded to such an act?

It was the nightmares, not the beating of the gangsters or the gnawing beast in his belly that drove him to despair. Stubbornly he clung on, believing that life had to get better and refusing to end the line of his family but soon came the days where he had to bite his cheek until it bled to hold his despair in check.

Never in his wildest dreams, or his darkest nightmares, did Yahiko imagine that it would be the act of stealing that would offer him a better fate. Stealing from Kenshin gave him a home he had no longer dared to hope for and a new kind of family. Up until that point he did not realize how lonely his life on the outskirts of society had made him and this group of friends, dysfunctional as they might be, gave him new comfort as only a true home could.

It also gave him a new brand of nightmares.

There is something to be said about having nothing because nothing can then be taken from you. Yahiko's mind was quick to point out just what, exactly, he could be losing. Along with his gratitude for having a roof over his head came the fear of it collapsing upon him.

With his affection for the art of the sword came the fear that he would never master it. With every passing day his admiration for Kenshin grew until there were nights where it was not his father frowning at him but Kenshin turning his back towards him. In his dreams, Sanosuke never returned from a night of drinking and Kaoru never praised his sword work. In his dreams, they were only too eager to kick him back onto the streets Kenshin had taken the time to save him from.

All too soon this new life was filled with new nightmares but, stubbornly clinging onto the silent promise to himself, Yahiko worked hard to never let anyone know what plagued his thoughts. The days after particular harsh nights were the days that he grinned all the wider, teased all the harder, ate so much more.

Every time he woke up covered in sweat, fear catching his breath, he reached for his wooden sword and began an early practice. He soon learned that the fresh cold water from deep within the dojo's well was enough to startle his skin into hiding the bags under his eyes. And if he tied his _kimono_ just right, the strain of the fabric would keep his shoulders from tiredly slumping.

But there were things he could not hide.

Fatigue tugged at his muscles, making them tremble far before they ought to, and caught his thoughts to replace them with a light buzzing sound in his ears. Sometimes he felt like he was struggling through a fast streaming river and even simple conversation took far too much out of him. Questions about dinner were much harder to answer when he was yearning for his bed despite the images of the night before still flickering across his mind.

He should've known it was just a matter of time.

Like his mother before her, Kaoru only frowned curiously, concernedly, in moments when he was too tired to keep his guard up. Like his mother, she was not quite so easily fooled by the wideness of his grins and no matter how much he teased her, her temper always ebbed away. When not blinded by her anger, Kaoru could be as sharp as only teachers could be and it was not long before she began to end their lessons early. On days when fatigue was making his bones crack and his eyes droop, she focused on meditation or insisted it was time to go and get the tofu for dinner even though it was still hours away.

Yahiko knew that she knew but no matter how he tried to redouble his efforts; there was no way to hide what was already seen. To make matters worse, it was unlikely that she was the only one who noticed. He realized that it was likely that Kenshin knew as well even though the man would never say so. Whether it was warrior's prudence or the understanding of another man haunted by nightmares that kept the red-head from commenting Yahiko never could quite figure out but the man never said a word. Perhaps, Yahiko had to consider, the former warrior simply felt that a woman was better suited for having a heart to heart.

For as much as Yahiko tried to hide his nightmares, hide his weariness, hide his weaknesses, Kaoru had seen and had already made up her mind: she would not let him bear this alone.

"My father used to say," She started after a particular grueling training session, casually settling besides Yahiko and ignoring the amount of water he was splashing over himself in an attempt to cool down, "Family is my strength and my weakness."

"So?" Yahiko started aggressively, far too exhausted to keep even a fragment of his temper. He could not squash the feeling that she had made him tired on purpose and was taking advantage of his weakness, "What does that have to do with me?"

"It means," Kaoru started again with a hint of steel in her voice and an eyebrow twitching in annoyance, "That though you can draw strength and comfort from family, caring about them leaves you vulnerable. And sometimes that can be a little scary."

"I'm the great Yahiko," He immediately started, puffing out his chest and ignoring how heavy his body felt now that he had had so precious little sleep, "There is nothing that scares-"

"I know about the nightmares," Kaoru interrupted, stating it simply, and with a drawn out sigh she leaned back and braced her weight on her hands.

She didn't look at him but instead studied the ceiling of the dojo with idle curiosity as one might examine the stars. Braced as she was her body language was open and that combined with that forced casual look on her face made Yahiko feel he suddenly knew what it must be like to have an older sister.

"I dunno what you're talking about," Yahiko groused, looking down as he unnecessarily tightened the sandals on his feet. He refused to look up at her, not wanting to meet her gaze, but he could've spared himself the trouble. Kaoru seemed quite happy to continue studying the ceiling rather than her apprentice.

"We're practically family now," Kaoru continued in that same casual tone, "Whether you like it or not. But that doesn't mean that we're only your weakness. We're your strength as well."

And now Kaoru decided to shift her gaze, Yahiko felt it settle upon him as she regarded him for a few moments. He refused to look up.

"But only if you let us," She finally added and he felt her gaze lift and knew she was studying the ceiling again.

Not quite knowing what to say to that he picked at the dirt that clung to the underside of his sandals. Silence stretched between them but, predictably, Kaoru couldn't let it linger long.

"Do you know about the _Baku_?" She asked him, searching for the same kind of solution that his mother once had, and in response Yahiko felt his temper flare suddenly and fiercely.

"A fat lot of good that did me," He spit, feeling all the resentfulness that he thought he had forgotten rise up like bile in the back of his throat. He had never quite forgiven that temple for selling his ill mother a talisman that did not work. "My mom skipped a dose of medicine to get one for me and for what? She could no longer leave the house and the nightmares still came anyway. Even if she hadn't got herself that medicine it still could've bought us meals instead of a useless lump of wood."

Moodily he crossed his arms and turned his head away from Kaoru. He did not want her to see the frown on his face because he had a feeling that he knew why his eyes were suddenly burning. He hadn't thought of his mother in so long that bringing her up now felt very much like picking at an open sore wound. He didn't like how it made him feel like a vulnerable child all over again.

"Well yeah…but I'm sure she knew that," Kaoru answered and the lack of tension in her voice made him look up despite himself.

Yahiko had expected her to be angry for his disrespect for the _Baku_ or at least expected some form of tension now that he had mentioned his mother. Instead Kaoru raised her knee and folded her hands around it in a thoughtful manner before turning to look at him in a way that she usually only had when teaching him a particular good technique. As if she was indulging him, presenting him a problem and waiting to see whether he'd figure out the solution on his own.

"Don't you think that she considered the same things you just said? I'm sure that she knew very well that she was spending money on something other than food."

"She wasn't even supposed to get a charm against nightmares. She was supposed to get a charm protecting us against bad luck. Why did she even bother to get it in the first place?" Yahiko spit angrily, his temper only fed by the patient tone in Kaoru's voice.

She was trying to teach him something but he was not in the mood to be taught, least of all by a girl who spends her days swinging around wooden swords. Somehow he doubted that she truly knew what went through his mother's mind when she herself was still so immature.

"Because she loved you," Kaoru answered simply, holding onto a smile and, for once, not seeming particularly affected by his dark mood, "And she knew that those nightmares were hard for you. And she wanted to make you happy."

"Food would've made me happy," He argued.

"Well, yes, but food wouldn't still be there when she was gone, now would it? I imagine that she knew that she wasn't getting better and she wanted to give you something to protect you even when she was gone and no longer could. I don't see the harm in that," Kaoru hummed after she said it and, completely unfazed by his stunned silence, soon added, "I think it was rather sweet of her, actually."

With that said she stood and lightly dusted her hands over the heavy fabric that protected her legs. Casually she stretched, as if aware that her words took some time to sink in, before turning to smile at him again. This time Yahiko felt that it wasn't a smile of a teacher that she was offering. It was something softer, just a touch more sincere, and spread familiar warmth through his chest. It was the smile of family, of a person who put up with you no matter how moody your nightmares made you.

"Because that's what family does, you know. We look out for you even when you don't think that we are," Kaoru added and for the first time Yahiko wondered just how long they had known about his nightmares. He no longer had any doubts about whether or not even Sano knew his nightly torments. They had all known and they had all worried. And only now that it became obvious the nightmares were not going away did they interfere.

Distracted as he was, Yahiko started a little when he felt Kaoru put her hand on his head and ruffle his hair. It reminded him of how his mother used to do so, even though Kaoru's touch did not continue to his cheek, and it made him uncomfortable. But when he looked up, mouth opened and ready to insult her; he was surprised by the proud look upon her face for that _did _seem the same.

"You'll be alright," She told him with the confidence that came straight from the heart, "But we'll be there just in case you won't be. Think of that next time you wake up in the middle of the night, alright?"

And with those parting words she left him to his thoughts.

Before Yahiko went to bed that night he uncovered the dusty and discarded talisman that his mother had given him so long ago and that he hadn't been able to throw away, despite everything. For the first time since she had pressed it into his hand, smiled, and shuffled into the house did he see it as something other than a sign of his weakness. Rather than a reminder of his faults and a reminder of her sacrifice it was a reminder of why his mother had got it in the first place. Why she would sacrifice money that could be spend on medicine and food just for the chance that he might sleep better at night.

He was probably imagining it but the _Baku_ seemed just a little gentler, almost smiling, as he held the carved wood between his fingers. It seemed to him more like an old friend rather than a chimera as he studied it by the dying light of his candle, ready to fall asleep.

There were no nightmares that night.


	4. Known

Known

It was funny how, everywhere he went, people knew Kenshin before they _knew_ Kenshin. All over Japan the story of the _Battousai_ was spread, known for his big influence in the war, and stories of his swordsmanship were well told.

Kenshin always responded humbly to strangers shocked to learn that he was that well-known assassin. Insisting that he was not that great, holding up his hands as if that could somehow keep the compliments at bay. He smiled and was kind to even the fiercest of strangers and never once rose to the insults they threw his way. Being called small, having his _kimono_ insulted, having his deeds judged: Kenshin took it all without complaint.

Sometimes, Kaoru wondered whether those ten years of wandering were not so much about helping other people as it was about punishing himself.

If he was he did a very poor job at it. Every time he met those strangers that only knew the _battousai,_ he always left _Kenshin_ behind. And always, always was he left them smiling, surely that was a reward in itself?


	5. Akira

He isn't particularly tall and the folds of his clothes cannot hide his slender build. But he appears too suddenly and far too silently in the middle of the road they're taking and that is enough to stop the joking. There is an undeniable sense of danger in the silence that follows; a sudden understanding.

This is no ordinary man.

"Are you the one they call Battousai?!" Hiko demands who, only seconds ago, had been in the middle of joking about the woes of the lovestruck. There is no room for jokes now.

The man does not answer but let's his actions do the talking as he runs towards them: his hands at his sword. These are dark times and there is no question about his intent. Akira draws his sword and heard the sound of his companions doing the same. These are his friends, his family, the people he has spend almost every day with for months now.

They fall before they can even register the pain.

The small slender Battousai cuts open their flesh and ends their existence. Akira doesn't have time to mourn them. He barely has time to think of their names as they fall in a manner that feels in tune with his heartbeat.

Suziki, Tanaka, Watanabe, Itou.

Battousai is upon him. He has the eyes of a manslayer: deathly calm and as cold as the steel he wields. Akira cries out in rage and brings down his sword but the Battousai is so much faster than him.

The steel doesn't bite. Instead it's as if his skin is simply not there, allowing the sword to free his blood. It escapes his body with terrifying speed and immediately Akira feels himself weaken.

The ground rises to meet him. It must be hard, he knows this, but he cannot feel it. At last the blinding pain is setting in his shocked system, leaving him blind for every other sensation. For the first time he experiences true bone chilling fear. He is dying, every inch of his body tells him so.

Tomoe…

Her calm and dignified face flashes across his mind and he forces his lungs to breathe. He remembers the way her eyes sometimes softened when she looked at him and forces his hands to brace his weight. Gravity is pulling at him, trying to keep him down but Akira fights it. He cannot die, must not die. Not now when there is so much to live for.

He rises.

Fleeing does not even cross his mind, although it would not have helped even if it did. There is no escaping the legendary manslayer and his pride would not allow him to try. He forces his legs to move, they feel like lead and it takes effort not to drag them, and somehow he manages to turn awkward shuffles into a run. His arms tremble but he makes them move in the familiar upward strike he had practised for so very long now.

If the Battousai is surprised he does not show it. He moves like a puppet, turning towards Akira only to complete his goal. Akira cannot accept that, cannot bow to a man far too composed for a fight that might end his life.

Tomoe, family, home. He cannot die.

His heart beats faster than it has done all his life, fuelling him with adrenaline. He is determined, all but ablaze with the will to is all in vain. The manslayer sinks his sword in his gut and Akira can feel the life in him flicker like a candle facing draft.

There is blood on his own sword as well but Akira has no energy to spare just to feel triumph. He feels drained, very tired very suddenly and his legs buckle beneath him without his permission. Once again he is on the ground but this time he knows he won't rise again.

The sweet smell of flowers enter his nose and when he looks up he sees the pedals of these flowers lie not too far from him. They've fallen just like he has but they remind him of Tomoe.

Graceful, elegant, beautiful Tomoe who would have been the perfect mother of his children.

Tomoe, he thinks her name as if in a prayer.

Steel slides between his shoulders and Kiyosato Akira is no more.


	6. Pumpkin

**Rahmakapala's prompt: Kenkao canon - western customs / fashions**

**Pumpkin.**

"Kenshin? What do you think?"

Expectant eyes are upon him and Kenshin can feel the weight of their stares as if it were pressing down on his shoulders. He pauses, his sake mid-way towards his mouth, and feels his eyes widen and his jaw drop but worse still is that he can see no immediate way to escape. Sanosuke's smirk might be hidden behind his cup but his dark eyes are shining with mirth. It tells the red-head that the other man is fully aware of what is going through his mind.

_Western people must have poor eyesight, that they do._

Kaoru's hair has always been one of his favourite things about her. It's dark and straight and perhaps, yes, a little common but he likes the familiarity. It's often black but sometimes when the sun catches it right it's almost blue and the ribbons she favours bring out both that special glow in her hair as the brighter shade of her eyes. It looks soft and every time she brushes it, calmly as if meditating, he has the urge to follow her ivory comb with his fingers.

Now he isn't even a little bit tempted.

Sekihara Tae arrived early this morning to take Kaoru away, claiming that the sword instructor was spending too much time around men alone. Thinking that this was a good thing, and seeing the spark of eagerness in Kaoru's eyes, Kenshin encouraged what he assumed to be a shopping trip. He never imagined that he would ever come to regret doing so.

He has known precious Kaoru for some time now. Seen her in all kinds of outfits, more perhaps than would be expected of what is only a tenant. He's seen her sweating in her training gear, her hair tied back in a high and proud ponytail. He's seen her dolled up just for dinner at the _Akabeko_, wearing all kinds of ribbons and all sorts of _kimono. _

He found her beautiful every single time, whether she was covered with sweat or perfume, and couldn't imagine that there would ever be a time that he would look at her and…well…

"Ah…that is to say…" He fumbles for words and the sounds of Yahiko snickering behind his hands aren't helping. Frantically his mind tries to come up with a polite thing to say but all he can think of is a weak, "This one believes this is one of those things of the new western fashion?"

"Yes! It's very popular," Tae agrees, very satisfied with her work and gesturing to the monstrosity that has become of Kaoru's hair, "A lot of women are wearing their hair like this, now."

Kaoru's hair has been combed and shaped in ways Kenshin didn't know hair _could be_ combed and shaped. Rising high above her head it makes a round shape only to be fastened somewhere in the back by a ribbon that seems larger than Kaoru's head itself.

Her hair is enveloped in a halo of her own hair, exposing her neck but putting that much more weight on her head. There must be some kind of ointment in her hair that keeps it like this, every hair seems perfectly smoothed backwards and even to Kenshin's inexperienced eyes it's obvious that a lot of work has been put into fashioning this haircut.

All he can think of is pumpkins.

A large and blue-ish pumpkin that is now attached to Kaoru's lovely head by means of a ribbon that looks ghastly rather than elegant. Just keeping her head straight seems like an effort, now, Kaoru has to sit perfectly still to make sure her hairdo remains the way it is. She would never be able to hold a _bokken_ wearing her hair as it is now.

Even the _kimono_ she is wearing, a pale pink with yellow flowers, seems to fade away in the presence of the pumpkin that used to be her hair. Or perhaps it's not so much fading in the background as much as dying out of embarrassment…

""Well…that is…this one…" Kenshin doesn't feel like the strongest swordsman in Japan when two women are looking at him so expectantly. He doesn't understand why they decided to ask _him _in the first place. Why does he always have to get the difficult questions?

A quick glance around him tells Kenshin that Sanosuke and Yahiko are in no condition to answer any kind of question. They're far too caught up in their own mirth and avoiding each other's eye to speak, leaving it to the red-head to answer.

It doesn't help that Kaoru's eyes have that shimmer in them that tells him that she's feeling insecure. That she could really use some affirmation and support from him. Guilt sinks like a stone in his stomach but no matter how much he tries, the only good thing he can think of about her hairdo is that it would probably frighten away evil spirits.

_That would not be a good thing to say, that it would not!_

"This one does not understand western customs very much, so he does not," Kenshin finally admits and as he smiles he hopes that Kaoru will hear the guilt in his voice. Her expression falls and he hurries to add, "And in either case, this one believes that Miss Kaoru is perfect the way she is."

There are too many eyes on him, even Yahiko has stopped his laughing to listen, and it seems that everyone realizes that he used the word 'perfect'. Despite the stab of embarrassment Kenshin cannot turn his eyes away from Kaoru. She's blushing, a mild pink blush that tells him she's a little shy but she seems happy and pleased all the same. Quite suddenly, that is all that matters.

"This one would not want her to change for the world," He tells her, firmly, and holds her gaze as he says it. Her blush turns deeper but the corners of her mouth shift into a private smile and Kenshin feels something leap in his chest when he sees it.

"Such a romantic, our Kenshin," Sano's loud voice reminds the red-head that they're not the only one in the room, "Maybe we should leave our love-birds to it, eh?"

Kaoru's temper snaps, fuelled by embarrassment no doubt, and she's quick to use her fist to make her point. Distracted by the commotion, even more so when Yahiko decides to offer his not-so-humble-opinion, Kenshin forgets all about the subject of their conversation and it isn't long before Kaoru leaves to take her usual evening bath.

But the next day Kaoru wears her hair in her usual pony-tail again and when she meets his gaze she offers him a private smile. The sun catches her hair when she does so, once again showing its blue-ish qualities, and when she walks past him her hair swings with every step: soft as silk.

He longs to run his fingers through her hair and that, he decides, is a pretty good feeling.


	7. Tomoe

**Tomoe.**

_There are snowflakes falling and she has always been drawn to white._

White is clear, pure and bright against almost every surface and yet showing most of its potential as nothing more than a canvas. She had wanted to be like a canvas, once; to be painted with the promise of a future, a home, and happily show every detail to anyone willing to look at art.

Then death entered her life and spread out like ink, reaching its long fingers all the way to her home that would no longer hold a husband. There is not much that white can do against black, such a deep and dark colour, and what can a proper woman do about the murder of her husband-to-be?

_Tomoe knows she's dying._

She cloaks her body in the scent of white flowers, drinks sake only out of white cups but her fingers are frozen and the alcohol is bitter on her tongue. There is a deep hollow in her chest where the darkness touched her, a spot that used to hold the almost-smile she would offer the man who loved her. Who she loved in return even though she never found the courage to put it into words.

_There are no wounds but she has only seconds left. Fitting, really, that they would tick away in a world cloaked in white._

He has the brightest hair she has ever seen and it's as red as the blood he spills. There is some burning on her cheek but she doesn't dare to move, not yet, not now. He looks up to her and his eyes are far too bright and only now does she realize that she expected them to be brown, almost black even. It would've been fitting for an assassin to have black eyes, to show the darkness that he spreads but _his _eyes are almost violet and shouldn't have been so intense.

_Her fingers curl around the smooth hilt of her knife and her muscles tense. It's almost time._

Kenshin is quiet. There is so much that he's already giving, so much dedication to his work; it seems that words are too much to ask for. He offers them sparingly and every time he does his voice is soft and tired but she doesn't need him to speak to understand.

She can sense it, his burden, and the weight behind every single one of his light steps. He doesn't sleep with anyone in the room unless it's her and she knows he's less bothered by nightmares when he does. She knows she shouldn't give him a blanket, definitely not tuck it carefully underneath his chin, but she does it anyway.

_He came to save her but it's his presence that condemns her to her fate._

Kenshin touches her with worn hands that aren't meant to be gentle but he tries.

There is dirt under his fingernails from the field that he has been working. He says he might've been a farm boy in another life but she knows that it isn't just a passing thought, a part of their cover. Knows, that he hopes that some part of him, somewhere, isn't destined to hold a sword. That some part of him is good at something other than murder and is the same as any other man.

Tomoe feels her heart break and remembers what it feels like to have it beating.

_There is no other solution. Snowflakes cling to her lashes and cloud her vision but her judgement is clear._

Tomoe's parents are strict but kind people. They understood her needing to leave and they will understand that she has to leave again. They have raised her to have honour and dignity and they will bury her with the same. She knows this and does not feel afraid. She will wash the black from the white by removing both from this world.

_Her heart is racing as she rises and with each beat she can hear the two things that cannot live together, not for her._

Tomoe's knife pierces skin and sinks into flesh and her back is burning with the same. She holds her eyes open and watches the life she's taking away. Her first kill and her suicide neatly wrapped together.

She's sure that it hurts but she's been hurting for so long now that she can convince herself she doesn't feel it. Surely the piercing of flesh is not nearly as hurtful as knowing that she has to redeem herself? Feeling that pressure every single day in every other heartbeat?

_Honour._

Kenshin's eyes are wide and shocked and still far, far too bright. He's horrified by what he's done, stricken by it and the darkness that had reached her with the death of Akira now reaches him: grief.

But there is understanding, a sober acceptance of the last gift she will give him. Again she pierces skin but this time she carves into the skin of her second love and puts everything that she is into it: black and white. Resentment and love. Grief and the brief happiness that she shared with the murderer of her fiancé.

_Love_.

There is no way to force the heart; she cannot stop herself from loving him and knows she tried. The brightness of his hair, the careful way he touches her, the immense guilt and sense of duty have all become part of her. She gave herself to him, lost herself in his scent, his touch, his taste. There is only one way to get herself back.

Yukishiro Tomoe dies with her heart filled with love and her honour restored.


End file.
